When I was a little girl, I watched my mother read her Bible all the time. She had a black leather, well-worn Bible, full of highlights and writing in the margins. One of the books I saw her read over and over again was Job. As a child, I never really understood Job. I was sad for him when he lost everything, and then happy for him when his life, wealth, and family were restored, but I never really connected with him. But I could tell that my mother did. My mother saw a lot of pain and suffering in her own life, and as an adult, I can only imagine how she identified with Job and his pain.

As I grew up and I too started to experience the pain of life, the death of loved ones, the pain of infertility, and miscarriages, the loss of a son, and the death of my mother, I began to love the book of Job. This ancient book about a man who loves God resonated with my current pain and grief. A book about a trial so intense and heartbreaking that anyone reading the book would agree with his wife, “curse God and die.”

He lost his wealth, his homes, his business, and his servants. He lost his kids and his health, and at the darkest moment, his wife turned on him as well.

His friends come, and at first, they are the best example of grieving with someone. They sit for a week. They sit with him in his ashes, his sorrow, his pain, and they don’t say anything.

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But when they do speak, they speak of what they don’t understand. The culture of the time believed that if you were good and honest and feared God, then you’d be blessed. But if you were wicked, if you sinned against God, then you’d be cursed.

But Job insists he did nothing wrong. He honored God, he loved God, and still, he was tormented. Job comes before God and pours out his heart’s frustration, his anger, and his pain. He cries and weeps and asks God to answer him. To answer his why.

But when God does appear, he doesn’t answer Job’s why. I even believe that when God asked “Were you there?” it wasn’t out of anger or frustration with Job but simply to remind Job of who God is.

God meets Job not with answers to his questions, but with answering who is God? God shows up and speaks to His own character, His power and majesty, His wisdom, and His creativity. His greatness! God shows up not in a whisper or a small voice, but He arrives on the scene declaring His goodness, displaying His riches, and His storehouses of snow. He shows up declaring the goodness of His creation even to the leviathan, a creature we can’t understand.

And why? Why did God not answer Job’s questions? If you have grieved, if you have loved and lost, and lost again, if your heart has been broken by death, then you know Job’s questions. Why God? Why him? Why her? Why now? Why over and over and over again? Why my children? Why do this to me? What did I do wrong? I love you, so why hurt me? Why put me through such pain and sorrow?

We want God to come to Job and answer the questions because that would mean He can answer our questions. He can answer the breaking of our own hearts. He can still and calm the storms inside us, the raging waves in our hearts that cause us to weep and mourn. We want an answer to our questions, sometimes simply to know that God is there and in control. We want to know He sees us and loves us. We want to know that this was not without reason. We want to make sense of our pain and grief. It’s the only way we know to bear it.

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But God, in His wisdom, power, and holiness, comes to us not with answers to the questions we yearn to hear, but with a display of power. How beautiful is my God to know that what I needed most was not an answer to my why, but a revelation of His glory? How wise is my God to come and meet me where I am and reveal His love and grace and beauty?

Even if I don’t understand, even if I don’t have the answers, I can know that He is powerful and mighty. I can know my God can be trusted. I can trust Him. I can lay my life in his hands and know that no matter what befalls, He is in control. His beauty, majesty, and power are enough to not only make this world, to set the stars in motion, to create a terrifying creature but also powerful enough to hold me in my grief. His glory is powerful enough to restore my broken heart, to gently hold together the pieces of my shattered hope, and to draw me to Him.

I can trust Him. I can rest in the knowledge that He is God. In my grief, I spoke of things too wonderful for me to understand, I demanded that God answer my why questions. But when He met me, He revealed to me who He is. I can rest in that revelation. I can rest in the greatness of our God.